


Queer Eye - We're Going to Millbank!

by soupytwist



Category: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy RPF, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Corgis, Crossover, Found Families, Gen, M/M, Makeovers, informative pamphlets, magnus archives season 4 spoilers, queerness is magic, self-esteem is for everybody (self esteem is for everyone), the ethics of group therapy, the importance of consent when it comes to haircuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26215369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupytwist/pseuds/soupytwist
Summary: The Fab Five cross the Atlantic to help out at an office with someserioustrauma issues. Can they help shy Martin Blackwood discover his confidence?(Yes. Yes, they can.)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 57
Kudos: 129





	Queer Eye - We're Going to Millbank!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imperfectcircle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectcircle/gifts).



> Because imperfectcircle is a goddamn delight in human form who deserves all the good things. No, even more than that.
> 
> This is deeply silly and makes no sense except on the level where _obviously_ the Fab Five have queer superpowers and _obviously_ Martin needs a makeover from them. I would apologise, but I have zero shame and enjoyed every second of thinking about this. :D Thankyou to singlecrow for absolutely everything, but in this case the beta specifically.

LONDON, ENGLAND

“Oh my god we're in _London!_ ” Jonathan looks out of the window of the black cab they've all piled in to and is practically bouncing.

“Why are we in London? Are they going to make us eat eel pie pie or something?”

Antoni pokes Tan in the ribs. “Eel pie is delicious!”

“I do not want eels anywhere near _my_ mouth, thankyou very much,” says Karamo, who is driving.

“Are you even licensed to drive a cab?”

“I thought Brits call it a taxi.”

“I want to know what we're doing here! Who knows what gorgeous hero we're going to meet today? Anyoooone?” 

“I do!” Bobby pats the file on his lap. “His name is Martin, he's a young gay man who moved to the big city from his home county of Devon, and he's been nominated by two of his colleagues, Daisy and Basira. They all work together at the Magnus Institute, where Martin is an Archival Assistant.”

“Librarians? Cuuuuute!”

“You know you want some of that Devonshire cream tea.”

“It's the _Magnus Institute_ , we're talking _scary_ librarians.”

“Awww.” Jonathan pouts at Tan, who promptly shows him the finger.

“Martin is quite shy and Daisy and Basira say that since their boss Jonathan had a medical issue a couple of months ago – he was in a _coma_ , you guys! - Martin has been really withdrawn and has _not_ been taking care of himself. According to Basira, Martin has always undervalued himself, doesn't let himself make friends, and hasn't decorated the flat he moved into when he got this job – several years ago. He still practically lives at the office, even though he officially moved back to his flat following some time when he was literally living in the Archives due to threats against his life.” 

“That is _too_ dedicated to the job, oh my god.”

“Threats against his _life?!_ Jesus! That sounds serious!”

“That poor boy.” Karamo shakes his head. 

“I think it _was_ serious. The previous director of the Institute ended up in jail! _Two_ of their colleagues have died in the last couple of years.” 

“Ohhhh, that's so sad.”

“They've all had a tough time, but it's hit Martin especially hard. He really needs our help to reclaim his confidence, put old trauma behind him, and embrace all the possibilities of living in this gorgeous city.”

“Are we ready to use some gay magic here?!”

“The Eye is _not_ gonna know what hit it. Queer powers combined, here we come!” 

Jonathan and Antoni do a high-five over Tan's head. “Yeah!”

__

DANCE MONTAGE

BOBBY – THE HOME  
TAN – THE FLAIR  
JONATHAN – THE JOY  
KARAMO – THE ETERNAL FLAME  
ANTONI – THE SUSTENANCE (…. and DOGS)

___

DAY 1

They pull up outside Millbank Tower, turning from the Thames and coaches full of tourists on the one side to looming bureaucratic concrete-and-glass architecture on the other. Jonathan leans over the barrier and nearly falls in; Tan pulls him back and they run across the road hand in hand, cars beeping, to join the others in looking for the Magnus Institute.

It's not entirely clear which door they enter, but they careen into a beige-and-grey lobby that seems to have returned from the 1970s and go through an old-fashioned metal detector staffed by a silent guard. 

“What is this place?” Antoni looks around and pokes an old-fashioned radiator with a finger. “Did we time-travel or something? Tan, is this just what England is like?”

“Nuh-uh.” Tan shakes his head. “I am not signing anything they give me down here, I am telling you that right now!”

“Wow, that's forbidding,” says Bobby, pointing at the crest reading 'Vigilo. Opperior. Audio.' on the wall behind the receptionist, whose nametag says Rosie and who does not seem nearly as creepy as the décor. She actually smiles – with the expected amount of teeth - as she points the way to the basement.

Antoni, Jonathan and Karamo go down the stairs. The other two go down in the lift, which changes up the colour scheme by being beige and cream instead of beige and grey. It is a very small lift: the doors don't seem to quite meet in the middle and it makes noises which may or may not be hissing. Tan screeches all the way down; Bobby regrets all his life choices.

At the bottom, they meet Martin, who apparently heard the lift and stuck his head out of the office to see who it was. Basira grins smugly in the background as they all hug. (“You are a great hugger!” says Antoni. “You should do it more often!”) The intense guy with the scars, who does not high-five Jonathan at the discovery that they share a name, fairly quickly gives up on trying to stand between Martin and the Fab Five and goes off to a corner to glare at a file while the rest of them all buzz around talking a mile a minute. 

“Don't mind him,” says Basira.

“Okay,” says Karamo. “So, tell us more about what's been going on.”

“It looks like you haven't had much chance to freshen up around here,” says Bobby, gesturing to the grey walls, institutional notice-board, and dust-covered filing cabinets. 

“Not... not so much, no,” says Martin. “Jon was in a coma, and Daisy was in a coffin-”

“You were in a - I'm sorry, what?” says Jonathan, staring at the woman in front of him.

“A coffin.” Daisy shrugs: what can you do?

“Like an _in the ground_ coffin? That does not sound like some fun vampire role-play, that sounds _intense_ , oh my god. Messing with the Buried directly? Hard _core_ , honey.”

“...it kind of was, a bit, yeah.” She rubs her nose.

“And I hear you had to live down here at one point?” asks Karamo, turning to Martin.

“Uh, yeah. There was a worm lady. I... yeah. For protection.”

“And your old boss is now in prison?” Karamo is sitting on a corner of a desk and looking like he wants to pat Martin on the hand.

“Yeah. Uh, we've got a new one now, but the main thing is that Jon over there was exonerated...”

Karamo nods. “So what I'm hearing is that you all have had a really rough couple of years, am I right?”

“Right,” say Martin, Basira, and Daisy in unison.

“Have you had much chance to process that, as a team? Talk about it at all?”

They look at each other.

“Er... no?”

**

“Are all your t-shirts two sizes too big?” asks Tan.

“They're what?” says Martin.

“Yes,” says Basira.

**

Antoni and Bobby do a little exploring and fairly quickly get lost in the maze of seemingly identical corridors.

“Have you seen a kitchen? Because I definitely haven't,” says Antoni.

“Nope,” says Bobby. “I heard there's a canteen or something upstairs?”

Antoni shudders delicately. “That does _not_ count. I saw their menu and their mac and cheese has no actual milk product in it, let's just leave it at that.”

Bobby laughs. They've arrived at a door with a dingy wooden plaque that says Artefact Storage. “I think we were told not to go in here,” he says. “Do you want to turn around?”

Antoni grins. “Are you kidding? No way.”

**

Nobody is eaten by anything in Artefact Storage and Bobby and Antoni make it back to the office just fine. However, this is because they make it about ten feet into the storage facility before they are chased out by a lady with a clipboard and a fierce expression who they later find out is named Sonja. They burst back into the office at a run, laughing and nearly bumping into Jonathan van Ness, who is poking at Martin's hair. It's a sort of shaggy, grown-out mid-length - “I don't have much of a chance to get a haircut very often, there's a Turkish barber at the end of my road but I don't think I've ever been there?” - that doesn't suit him.

“You smell so nice! And your skin is so good – do you moisturise?”

Jonathan Sims looks up, and Jonathan van Ness catches Basira mouthing “TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCE” behind Martin's head.

**

There are a surprising number of tape recorders around the place. One of them makes a strange noise, like something popping. Martin picks it up to see what happened, and the space where the batteries should be is now full of glitter.

“Oh! Rainbow glitter! That's cool,” he says. “But is it... I dunno... safe for you all to be down here? I mean, the tape recorders don't seem to... um... react well to you?”

“Oh wow, is that an Eye thing, the tape recorders?” says Tan. “I've never seen that happen before!”

“We are too fabulous for the Eye, henny!” says Jonathan, doing a pirouette.

“Okay,” says Bobby, “I think that means we have to steal Martin away and get started.”

“You're _bringing him back,_ ” says the other Jonathan, from his corner. It is very definitely a statement, not a question.

“I'm not being _kidnapped_ -kidnapped!” says Martin. “Unlike _some people_.”

“Awww, he just wants to make sure you're all safe and sound!” says Jonathan van Ness, slinging an arm around Martin's shoulders and ushering him out of the office. “Don't you worry, we'll take the best care of him and will pamper him just as much as we can get Netflix to pay for! Byeeeeeeeeeee!”

___

TALKING HEADS:

Antoni: “I don't think these are people who have had chance to enjoy a nice meal together in a _while_. I know they're busy, but if I can help them slow down, eat something that isn't a supermarket meal deal, I think they'll feel better for it and hopefully, get to really invest in themselves and their time together.”

Jonathan: “Martin is a beautiful soul and I want to help him see how gorgeous he truly is! It's hard to take care of your beautiful outer self when your beautiful inner self is hurting, but a little pampering is _exactly_ what I think he needs to help him see that he is worthy of all the love that's being thrown his way. And there is a lot of love being thrown his way, from a certain direction, if you get what I mean, and I know you do.”

Tan: “He doesn't want to have everyone stare, but that's okay, he can shine in his own way. I just want to help him do it. If he stops wearing things that are way too big for him and accepts that he's a young, hot guy who just happens to have a bit of junk in the trunk, I'll consider my job done.”

Bobby: “I think everyone deserves a comforting, inviting space, whether it's at home or at work. For that reason, I'm going to remodel the Archive's working space as well as Martin's home apartment, to try to give them the beauty and sense of security in their environment that they deserve.”

Karamo: “Trauma is a real thing, and we've come into a whole group of people who've had a lot of traumatic experiences over the last couple of years. They've never really had chance to come to terms with any of that, but this week I want to give them a start on processing some of that hurt so they can start looking forward to the future. And what better way to do that than a team party?”

___

DAY 2

“Okay, so you know I'm not taking you to Harrods, right?” says Tan, holding open the door to the shop to let Martin in.

“...right,” says Martin, who does not sound particularly convinced even to himself. However it does appear to be true that the shop isn't so high-end he'd never dare to step in it in case he got kicked out, so he breathes one small sigh of relief.

“I'm serious! I promise you, my goal is purely to find you some clothes that feel like you, but just elevated, so you feel happier in them.” 

“And we're going to... what, magically make those clothes appear?”

“Absolutely I am! This is for inspiration: you tell me what you like, what feels nice to wear, and the magic wardrobe powers will _activate!_ ”

“Magic wardrobe powers are real?”

“Call of the Flair, baby. You are going to _kill it_ in some better fitting jeans, I swear.”

Martin laughs. It comes out sounding a little bit hesitant, like equipment that hasn't been used in a while and hasn't quite believed anyone meant to press the 'on' button. “I am not!”

“With your legs? You _are._ ” Tan sounds absolutely positive about this.

“What if I'm not really sure I _want_ to, um, kill it?” 

Tan gives him a look across a rack of sparkly orange bomber jackets. “That's okay. It doesn't have to be anything you're not comfortable with. But clothes don't have to be about other people looking at you. They can be about you looking at yourself, what you want to look like, the person you want to be.” He gestures at Martin's trainers, which are frankly only keeping his toes dry by sheer luck at this point. “The world isn't going to end just because you got a nicer pair of shoes than... those.”

“Are you positive about that?” says Martin, glumly.

Tan gives him the side eye. “Yes. Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Ugh. Okay, are we talking, everything-explodes kind of world ending, or a specific ritual, or what?”

Martin pokes at a pair of trousers on the rack in front of him. “I'm... still getting information. I think it's a ritual. But yeah, standing out is apparently a problem?”

“According to who?”

“My boss? Our new Head of the Institute. He says it's very, um, important that I don't, you know, draw attention to myself.”

“Who died and left him in charge?! That is _some bullshit_ ,” says Tan, holding a jumper up to check it against Martin's colouring . Martin isn't sure if he's scowling because the colours clash or because he finds the whole concept of becoming invisible personally offensive. “I don't wanna deny that there's a real threat here, because that's exactly why we came? But there is _no way_ that isn't at _least_ 80% fucking with you.”

“Yep,” says Martin, because really, he can't disagree.

“Trust me, I know bullying assholes.” Tan is holding onto what looks like a denim shirt with evident sincerity. “They never do shit like that for _your_ benefit. And the best remedy for stuff like that is calling the bluff. We're going to find you an outfit that makes you _want_ to stand out! Something that shows your best self and fuck the Fears, anyway!”

“All right,” says Martin. Weirdly, he does feel a bit better about at least trying.

Tan gestures around. “So, what in here _do_ you like?”

“Um, I guess I might wear something like this?” Martin points at a plain grey t-shirt. It's not actually identical to the one he's wearing, but it's not far off. “But, if I'm going to try something new... a better shirt would be nice?”

“All right! We can work with that!”

Tan sounds delighted, and has a whole thing about how good an appropriately tailored shirt will look. The words “geek chic” are used. When Martin eventually finds a button-down shirt that seems right, he is pretty sure it's the Flair that makes the French tuck actually work, but Tan says no, it's just a really good idea. No magic required.

***

In the Archives, Bobby has employed what looks like a whole army of minions. It's actually three design students, a removals guy called Big Ron, and a touch of Home magic. 

“How far do these tunnels _go?!_ ”

Bobby grimly gets out his phone and orders more off-white paint.  
___

DAY THREE

“Hi hi hi hi!” says Jonathan, giving Martin a hug and ushering him into the barber's. “I am so excited! Are you excited?”

“Actually, a bit, yeah,” says Martin. He doesn't say that he's starting to feel a little bit more like spending time with other humans is a thing that reasonable people might do. He rubs the back of his neck, where his hair is definitely getting a little long. “I haven't had a haircut in, um, a while.”

“I was just about to ask about that!” Jonathan ushers him into a barber's chair. “Do you ever usually style it? Like with a little bit of gel or anything?”

“Not – not really, no.”

“You seem like someone who likes a look with no fuss and no muss, am I right?”

“That the Joy powers telling you that?” asks Martin. He feels a bit mean the second it comes out of his mouth, because it _is_ a bit snide, but this other, pink-heels-wearing Jonathan laughs, a genuine peal of delight. 

“Oh my god, I love you! Let me tell you, when we first met I was like, that is a kitty with claws, and I love being right. Okay, so I am absolutely feeling the low-key vibes, and that is not a problem, we _love_ low-maintenance fabulous.” He waves a comb. “Can I brush out this luscious mane? Because I think I have some ideas, if you're up for a slightly stronger look than you've got currently but not, like, excessive?”

“Brushing is fine,” says Martin. He had actually forgotten that he quite likes the grooming element of getting his hair cut. It's nice. “But what do you mean by a stronger look? Exactly?”

Jonathan combs thoughtfully. “Well, I was thinking, how do you feel about keeping a little bit of the length on the top – not so much it looks like Max Headroom, but enough that you can play with it a bit – but less at the sides, so it's more defined? Then we can see your handsome face!”

Martin frowns, trying to picture it. “As long as I don't look like I'm trying to be in a boyband?”

“Honey, if I gave you a boyband haircut, I would make you look like you _were_ in a boyband, not just trying!” Jonathan waves the hand with the comb. “And oh my god, now you mention it I think you'd look adorable with a bit of a Harry Styles thing going on if you ever wanted to try growing it out a little? But I promise, we are a _strictly_ consent-only boyband operation.”

“That's-” Martin clears his throat. “That's good to know.”

“All right then! Let's get your hair all nice and washed, and then let's go!” 

The actual washing bit is pleasantly dull: Jonathan is very good at both getting the water a pleasant temperature and not being weirdly pull-y. Martin starts to wonder if there is some magic going on, though, because he has definitely never felt comfortable enough with a barber before to just talk in the way he finds himself doing as Jonathan snips and combs and asks what he does with his free time. 

“I write poetry?”

“You're a poet! Wow, that's cool! I quite like Langston Hughes, who one of my darling friends introduced me to, but I do not know nearly enough about poetry, did you always write it?”

“Since I was a teenager. Or I did anyway. I haven't in – God, a while.”

“Aww. What's getting in your way? It sounds like that really matters to you.”

Martin makes a gesture which hopefully indicates 'everything?' while also not moving his head. “Maybe sometime in, I don't know, the future? I guess? Things might calm down enough for that. It's been a rough – okay, really rough – couple of years.”

Jonathan keeps snipping away at full pace but still manages to look concerned. “From what you said before - which was frankly _a lot_ , you have _seen_ some stuff, honey! - I think that kind of thing would change anyone's priorities... but if it matters to you, then it's okay to, like, block out the time if you can, you know?”

“I... suppose I haven't even thought about it since Jon came back,” says Martin, slowly. “I've – I've been working a lot.”

“Oh, so is Jonathan not your boss?”

“He used to be. He's the Archivist, but I work for somebody called Peter Lukas now.” Martin tilts his head as directed. He sounds a little defensive.

“Well that's good, because I was wondering if somebody needed to go and have a nice little talk with him about appropriate workplace boundaries. Which we can still _totally_ arrange if you're not into it, just so you know, if he is making you feel bad at all. We are here to help, honey, and the Eye might be beyond the reach of the criminal justice system but that does not mean we're helpless! Those queens at Stonewall were not just throwing shade.”

Martin blinks, taking this in. “Um, please don't do anything to Jon? We only just got him back?” He coughs. “And he doesn't make me feel bad. Um. In case that wasn't already pretty clear.” 

Jonathan looks like he's tipped all the puzzle pieces out onto the floor and they've spontaneously made themselves into a picture. “Awwww, you like him!”

Martin clearly wants to bury his face in his hands but can't, because he is still wearing a black barber's gown and Jonathan is still waving scissors around near his head. “I've never actually said that bit out loud before, to, um, anyone, but yeah.” He takes a breath that might be a sigh. “I really do.”

“You haven't gone for it, though? Cause honey, he is _definitely_ giving off vibes.”

“No, and – and I can't. It's complicated, but... I really, really can't.”

There must be something in his tone that says he's serious because Jonathan pats him on the shoulder, then goes back to snipping. He does something with the buzzers before handing Martin his glasses.

“Okaaaay, are you ready to see your new look?”

Martin puts his glasses on, and Jonathan spins the chair.

“Oh my god. That's me.” Martin stares at his reflection. “Well, this is officially the coolest my hair has ever been.”

Jonathan preens, just a little bit. “And the great thing about this cut is, if you want to feel a little bit more polished – like if you're out on a date, maybe with that Archivist of yours” - Martin briefly looks like he is about to argue about this, then thinks better of it - “it'll only take maybe two seconds with some styling wax to put a bit more zhuzh in your look.”

“Zhuzh.” Martin moves his head back and forth a bit, like he's checking that his reflection is, in fact, doing the same. “Right.”

**

Jonathan and Martin walk into the conference room to find everyone else already there. It's the big room, where people usually shove all old files or boxes of Items (Misc) that are deemed too safe for Artefact Storage, but someone has cleared the junk and put a bunch of chairs around in a circle. The team are sitting, with varying degrees of success. Antoni, Tan, and Karamo have more or less given up entirely – Antoni is lying on the floor with his head on Tan's lap. Jonathan Sims has one leg tucked under him and is glaring at Karamo.

“...process the – oh, hey, Martin!” says Karamo. “Wow! Your hair looks so good!”

“I'm not getting up but it looks great!” says Antoni. “Stop poking me, Tan.”

“Could be a lot worse,” says Basira, punching Martin on the shoulder. “Levelled up!”

“Um, thanks.”

“Until you said that, Martin, I wasn't even sure it was really you,” says Daisy, straight faced.

“Yeah, I think that's actually working for you, Blackwood,” says Melanie.

“ _Doesn't_ it though?” says Jonathan, cheerily. “I'm so proud of it! I feel kind of like you look like that bit in Mulan, where she cuts her hair off with a sword, except like if that was actually what warriors at the time would have done. And, like, hopefully with a bit less gender essentialism?”

“I don't think I ever saw Mulan, but that sounds good?” says Martin.

“Never saw Mulan! Honey, what are they teaching the children these days,” says Jonathan, blithely ignoring the fact he and Martin are the same age, as well as at least four different Disney Twitter hot takes he read only the other day. Karamo pats him on the knee and goes back to explaining the idea of group therapy.

Jonathan Sims has been notably silent ever since Martin walked in; Daisy and Basira exchanged a look or two, although whether this was because Jon looked a bit like he had just seen someone wearing his favourite childhood toy as a hat or because the scowl was only deepening, it would be hard to say. 

Karamo pauses for a second, and the Archivist swings his leg down from under him, looks him in the eye, and says, “I've got a question. Did you really have to do that?”

“What?” says Karamo.

“The... whatever kind of coercion you're pulling to get everyone in here.” 

“What? Hey, I'm not coercing anybody!” says Karamo, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Look, this isn't something anybody _has_ to do. I'm here to open up opportunities to talk and make connections, not force anybody!”

“I felt magic.” 

“Jon-” says Martin.

“No, Martin, if these people are coming in here and – and _making_ you want to spill your secrets, for whatever reason, it's my job to stop them.” He heaves a sigh. “I know I don't exactly have any ethical high ground to stand on here, believe me, I do. But funnily enough you were all _correct_ when you were telling me that manipulating people without their consent wasn't acceptable. It isn't.” 

Martin starts to reach out a hand, draws it back. “Jon, they're not making us do anything.”

Karamo nods. “We're not, I swear. Even Netflix don't have that sort of influence.”

Jonathan Sims looks back and forth between them like he isn't quite sure what to do with this information, like he got a bookcase from Ikea but the instructions turned out to be for a patio.

“I think it might be helpful to-” Martin sighs. “I don't know. Talk about it?”

Karamo nods and tries to look encouraging. It's Basira who speaks up. “You never just wanted to talk about it? Just because it's taking up space in your head?”

“It's not like that's going to bring Sasha or Tim back,” say Jonathan Sims. “It's not going to make up for – anything.”

“We know!” comes a chorus.

Karamo is practically radiating approachability. “You know it's not meant to, right? I can't make all that stuff un-happen.”

“And,” says Jonathan Sims, looking at Karamo seriously, “none of that explains why I _felt_ it. I didn't just know – I felt pulled.” He looks at his team. “But none of you did.”

There's a chorus of “no” and a shaking of heads.

Karamo looks thoughtful. “I've got an idea. The Eye is all about secret knowledge – being discovered against your will, _shame_. But I'm not. The Eternal Flame's only into secrets that are revealed because you chose to, because they're _not_ shameful, as part of opening up to others. I think something in you reacted to that.”

“That... makes sense.”

“It might also mean that something in you _wants_ to talk about this.” Karamo pointedly ignores Jonathan's 'I _really_ don't think so' face. “It's normal to feel conflicted – if you're trying to talk about important things, you've probably got strong feelings about them, right? Complicated feelings. Even those of you who were just saying you want to talk about the stuff that's happened over the last couple of years, I'm gonna bet that there's still going to be stuff that's hard to talk about. That's part of the process, and it's okay to need some time. Today's just a starting point. A reminder that you aren't alone in having been through some tough shit.” 

“This is all disgustingly wholesome,” mutters Melanie to Daisy in an undertone.

“Usually I'd say it wasn't a good idea to have this sort of conversation with your _colleagues_ , but you guys are in kind of a unique position. Martin, why don't you start by telling us a bit about what's on _your_ mind today?”

“Um, I guess it would be good to talk about the things we have in common – we're all stuck here, after all, but sometimes it feels kind of lonely.” Martin looks at the floor, then at Jonathan Sims, studiously ignoring Tan, Antoni and Jonathan van Ness, who are now in some sort of Fab Cuddle Pile doing sad faces at him. “There's stuff I can't really talk about, for, um, work reasons, but that's worrying me.” He makes a noise that might be a huff. “And I guess I don't have any family left since my mum died. Is that enough?”

“That's a strong choice of word, there, _stuck_ ,” says Karamo. “Do you all feel that way?”

Melanie rolls her eyes. “Well, we can't quit, so, yes.”

Karamo stops with one hand halfway in the air. “...what? You _can't quit?_ ”

**  
CUT TO:

At the same time, under the Archives, Bobby and his team are clearing and painting and moving furniture around. They've found what look like a whole lot of cells, organised in a circle.

It's pretty creepy. And that's before you even get to what looks to be a dried out human corpse on a... is it a throne?... in the middle.

“Boss, something is seriously messing with the aesthetic in here and I think it's that.” Big Ron points his thumb over his shoulder. “That's beyond my pay grade, that is.”

Bobby looks horrified for a second, then dials for an emergency clean-up service.

“Hi, yeah... Do you do incineration?” He looks around. “Let's say... immediately?”

**  
CUT BACK TO:

“Okay, so there's clearly _even more_ to go through than we originally thought,” says Karamo, looking a bit like he might be wondering just how much he's bitten off but is far too kind to ask whether it's worth chewing it. 

“We did try to warn you,” says Basira. 

Jonathan Sims mutters “I knew it would be like this” under his breath; Daisy elbows him in the ribs. Karamo distributes some pamphlets with “Group Negotiation, Eldritch Powers and You” clearly legible at the top.

Martin looks a bit concerned and says “Does anyone else hear-” and then the static is unmistakable and Peter Lukas is there, stood at the side of the circle nearest the door. He's carrying a slim briefcase but more as though he feels like he should, or as though it would be a useful weapon in a crisis, than because he's actually got papers in there. He takes a fraction of a second to take in the scene – the circle of chairs, now pulled closer together; the strangers; the cups of tea – and very, very calmly says, “Martin. What is the meaning of this.”

Tan, Antoni, Jonathan and Karamo are all on their feet, stepping forwards in unison. If they actually had hackles, they'd be raised: they don't, but eighties power chords are clearly chiming in the air behind Karamo's head and Antoni suddenly has two corgis running around his ankles. Jonathan Sims, Basira, Daisy, and Melanie have also stood up. Between them, they make a kind of protective semi-circle in two layers, with the Fab Five on the outside and Martin in the middle. 

“You must be Peter Lukas, _finally_ ,” says Basira.

Peter Lukas looks at them all in turn. “You must be Basira, Daisy, and Melanie. I don't allow visitors. And you know what we agreed, Martin.”

“I do – but-”

“What is this, anyway?” He laughs; it's very clear that he doesn't actually find anything funny. “A group bonding session?” Nobody says anything and the laugh abruptly stops. “You have come into _my Institute_ and are encouraging _group bonding?_ Oh, no. Martin, did I or did I not _explicitly_ ban group bonding activities when we reviewed the staff code of practice?”

“Actually,” says Martin, “only those organised by the Institute.”

“We're not from the Institute,” says Karamo. “We're the Fab Five.”

“From Netflix's _Queer Eye_ ,” chorus Tan, Antoni, and Jonathan van Ness.

“And we're here-”

“On my say so,” says Jonathan Sims. He scowls and shakes his head at Daisy and Basira, who look like they're going to object. “I thought it might be...”

“...nice?” finishes Martin.

“Nice.” Jonathan Sims nods forcefully and continues to glare, ignoring the corgis, one of whom is now trying to eat his shoelace. “So if you're going to be angry with anyone, it should be me.”

“This is ridiculous.” Peter seems to get even taller and looks very much like he wishes they were on a boat so he could push someone overboard. “I don't care what powers you represent, this is mine. You” - he doesn't have to point to clearly be indicating the Fab Five - “are not welcome here and need to leave. Now. And Martin, I thought better of you. We will be discussing this in private. Also now. The rest of you, I will speak to later.”

None of them move. Instead, the steady beat of power chords played on an electric keyboard gets louder, as does the mix of scents: something of a combination of your favourite perfume, your favourite meal cooked by someone who loves you, and freshly ironed clothes that make you feel like whatever your goals for the day, you're going to achieve them and still have time for a mojito.

The corgi puppies also start yipping louder. The Fab Five take a step forward.

Peter opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, a kind of rumble shakes the room: there's a flash of rainbow and a shudder like a shadow passing over. The puppies squeak. Peter looks horrified, and clutches at his chest.

“What have you _done?_ ” he gasps. He makes a choking sound and vanishes.

Everyone stares at the space where Peter Lukas has just been. Martin and Jonathan Sims realise they have grabbed at each other for support, and let go in a hurry.

“What in the name of Our Lady Michelle Kwan was _that?_ ” says Jonathan van Ness.

**  
CUT TO:

The eye sockets flash red for a second when the disposal team arrive and pick up the strange, mummified thing to throw it into the incinerator. Once it's been turned into a pile of ash, there's no more trouble. There's a rainbow sheen in the air, which blooms and grows, gradually expanding until a giant bubble has enveloped the whole building. It leaves a shimmer in its wake, but nobody seems to mind, exactly. One or two of the cleaners look like they've just realised they no longer have a headache.

“Some things you just have to get _rid of_ ,” says Bobby to Poppy and Hernando, two of the design students. They both take a note of this on their iPads. Poppy takes a look at the work schedule and orders extra pizza. She also orders even more off-white paint, just in case.

**

CUT BACK TO:

Antoni is in the middle of a pile of corgi puppies, who are recovering from their ordeal with snuggles. Everyone else is standing around looking a bit dazed.

“Well,” says Tan. “That was... different.”

**

DAY FOUR

London is equipped with many fine dining establishments, and some of them are Polish. Martin opens the door of one located a convenient distance from the Institute; it's got dark leather seats and shiny tables, and is definitely not in his usual price range. 

“So that was pretty intense yesterday,” says Antoni, who is sat at a corner table with a mug of coffee and a dish of pastries. “Did you find out where your boss went?”

Martin puts his travel thermos (blue with a picture of Proust and _À la reserche du thé perdu_ written on it in a squiggly cursive font) down on the table and sits. “Nobody's seen him since. We searched but – no sign of him. I guess he does disappear sometimes?” Martin's face screws up in what, unbeknown to him, is a passable imitation of Jonathan Sims' more concerned scowl. 

“Yeah, the guys told me they were helping with that while I was setting up here,” says Antoni.

“And we've apparently lost our _old_ boss as well.” Martin grabs one of the pastries. 

“What?” Antoni looks like it's too early for this, even though it's actually nearly 3pm.

“Yeah. Not Jon, the one in, um, prison. He's disappeared.”

“You don't sound that worried about it?” says Antoni, carefully.

“Actually, I'm not?” Martin sounds almost surprised at himself, and smiles. It's a nice smile. “Mostly because the police said one of the guards reported seeing him crumble into dust at exactly the same time as Peter disappeared.”

“Bobby said they got rid of some strange stuff, you think that did something?”

“It seems plausible, and we've got the dust in Artefact Storage right now.” Martin shrugs, then pauses. “Why? Do you think we're all right to still be doing this?”

“Oh my god yes!” says Antoni. “Absolutely! Like, I believe in making time and space to enjoy your food but you can't do that if you're running for your life, right?”

“...that was meant to be reassuring, I think.” Martin takes a drink of tea. “Okay then. What are we making?”

“Well,” says Antoni, “I heard you've got some Polish ancestry.”

“Yes,” says Martin, and then, “we never, um, cooked traditional dishes together or anything like that, though... My dad, um, left the family when I was pretty young, and my mum never did much of that sort of thing.”

“This might come as a surprise, but even though I _love_ Polish food, I've not always had the easiest relationship with my cultural heritage either.”

“Yeah?” says Martin, holding onto his tea slightly too hard. Antoni takes a sip of his own coffee sympathetically.

“Oh god yeah. There were times I felt embarrassed or ashamed to be from an immigrant family, times when I let what other people thought about it affect me.” He grimaces. “Sometimes I was a bit of a dick about it, honestly. But what I learned from that – y'know, eventually – was that it was okay to make your _own_ relationship with your heritage. It can be messy and complicated, but we all get to decide what traditions or foods or whatever we take forward from our families into our own lives, and how we do that.”

“Yeah, I – I guess.”

Antoni smiles. “And the way _I_ do that is through food. So, I was thinking that you might like to connect a little bit with that side of your background by showing you how to make something Polish. Did your family ever eat golabki when you were growing up?”

Martin looks thoughtful for a minute. “Stuffed cabbage leaves? Maybe once when my babcia visited?”

“Yeah! Golabki are stuffed cabbage leaves with meat and rice. They're so good! And a pretty easy way to get started that still looks good – they're really simple, but they're great for all sorts of special occasions, and Chef David who runs the kitchen here said we could borrow it.” Antoni turns with a gesture, and somehow there's a whole kitchen preparation area right behind him. Martin blinks, and starts cleaning his glasses just in case. “Golabki need fairly simple ingredients - just rice, cabbage, ground beef, some onion and bacon and tomatoes - and it's baked, so it's easy to throw together and just sling in the oven, especially if you already have leftover rice.”

“That sounds good,” says Martin. A rainbow-spotted apron has suddenly attached itself to his front.

Antoni beams. “Let's get started!”

Bags of rice appear; Martin swallows, and wipes his suddenly slightly sweaty palms on his rainbow apron.

The golabki are delicious.

**

Then it's time for Martin to see his renovated home and workspace. In his flat, the single bed whose covers had faded from the amount of times they'd been through the wash has been replaced with a double bed whose deep sea-green covers go beautifully against the new accent wall. He noticeably blushes, and checks out the new walk-in wardrobe. 

“Does the landlord know you've added about ten feet in the middle of the house?” he asks Tan.

“Nope,” says Tan. “They never notice anything we do to the property – it's part of the magic I guess, but how, I have no idea.”

“It's amazing.” Martin turns to Bobby. “Seriously, even with the powers and everything, thank you so much.”

“You've not even seen the kitchen yet, oh my goooood!” yells Jonathan van Ness. The kitchen is, indeed, very nice. There is also somehow a jacuzzi in the bathroom instead of the tub-and-shower-attachment that was there before.

“I thought I might as well,” says Bobby. “That shower attachment was making me sad.”

Tan nods wisely. “Shower attachments make everyone sad.”

“That is _so true_ ,” says Antoni, munching on a cookie. 

**

The office is less dramatically changed than the flat in some ways, a lot more in others. The paint is fresh and charming, the carpet no longer attacks anyone's shoes, the desks are clean, there's even a clock that actually works and doesn't keep getting stuck at 10.13, but the biggest shock is the filing.

“You've... you've _filed everything?_ I mean, in... in order? So people can _find things?_ In just a couple of days?”

Bobby gives him a look. “Yeah, we didn't want to lose anything so we put them in date order.”

“Wow.” Martin stares. The new filing cabinets are no longer a weirdly beige shade of grey with a small metal holder for a label card that disintegrated back in the 80s. These are sleek, efficient, and apparently _useful_ as well as tasteful. “Jon is going to _flip_.”

**

DAY FIVE

The Fab Five are in their London HQ, which seems to be a very expensive flat somehow overlooking the Thames, St James' Park, _and_ the Gherkin. It's got a giant black leather sofa, a flatscreen TV, a copy of a Henry Moore sculpture in the corner, and one of Antoni's corgis running around. (Her name is Hilda.)

Antoni comes in with a tray of drinks and stuffed cabbage leaves.

“Ooh, those smell amazing,” says Jonathan.

Tan waves the remote. “Everyone ready?”

“Ready!”

The flatscreen hums to life, showing Martin in his bathroom in his flat, staring intently at the mirror as he dots moisturiser onto his face. 

“Awww, yay!” says Jonathan.

Martin does a final grimace then rubs the moisturiser in. He's wearing the butt-hugger jeans and a nice black t-shirt, but picks up an expensive looking bomber jacket on the way through the bedroom. He grins, and seems to be standing up rather straighter.

“He looks pretty badass,” says Antoni. 

“He does, thank you for noticing,” says Tan.

“And look at the _hair_ ,” says Jonathan, chin propped on his hands, sighing dreamily. “I don't think he even used product, but do I care? No, I do not, because I did a _good day's work_ there.”

The screen shows Martin making golabki, then cuts to him in the big meeting room at the Archives, putting them out on a serving dish. The room has been redecorated with a baby-blue-and-white theme, which works well with the new pine furniture. Martin can be seen mouthing the word _when?_ to himself.

Melanie, Basira and Daisy come in. Melanie starts poking things; Basira goes for the filing cabinets and starts making noises that might be described as cooing. The other people in the room are also Institute employees, if the sheer amount of mid-range business-casual shirts is anything to go by. (“Oh god, my eyes!” wails Tan, and buries his face in Antoni's shoulder. Antoni pats him on the head and eats some golabki.) Everyone is very admiring and seems to be enjoying the food. Martin is noticeably a little pink, particularly around the ears. 

Because reality TV editors have an overdeveloped sense of drama, there's a bit of a lull in the conversation when the doors open and Jonathan Sims walks in.

Martin does his best to pretend he didn't just jump like a particularly startled rabbit. “Oh, hello, Jon. Um, how'd it go?”

Jon holds up the papers he's carrying. “All fine, surprisingly.” He pauses and adds, “Nice jacket.”

“Thanks again for doing those, sorry-”

“Not a problem, you were busy with all” - Jon waves his free hand, indicating the room, Martin, Martin's outfit, and existential horrors of all sorts - “this.”

Martin glances down at his shoes and smiles. “I guess I was. Seriously, thanks, though.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to do the honours?”

“What? Oh, no, let's just hand them out.”

Basira, balancing a plate of stuffed cabbage leaves in her other hand, waves a box gleefully. “I've got biros!”

Papers and biros get handed around, and there's a lot of people all talking over each other. Basira does a bit of a chair dance; she and Daisy share a kiss, and Melanie pulls Martin into a hug, seemingly to the surprise of all involved, watched over by a Head Archivist who might be smiling.

In the London HQ, the Fab Five are all leaning forward, squinting at the screen. Hilda is also looking at the screen. She is not allowed on the furniture and also can't read, but she is not particularly concerned that her lack of height means she has a restricted view.

“Something has _happened!_ ” Jonathan van Ness is practically bouncing. He looks in imminent danger of knocking his drink over everything, but somehow this has never actually come to pass. 

“Something's _always_ happened,” says Tan, poking at the remote. “Karamo, can you read anything on there? And why doesn't this thing have a zoom button?!”

A buzz of static on the screen alerts them to the arrival in the Archives of Peter Lukas. He doesn't look great. The polish seems to have gone; his jacket isn't buttoned and doesn't seem to fit him any more. Even his hair seems a little wild. 

“A _gathering?_ ” he says.

“Actually,” says Martin, “we're quitting.”

“What?” Peter looks completely flummoxed. Then he straightens up. “I think you'll find-”

“That we can't?” says Jonathan Sims, and his smile is distinctly shark-like. 

“We thought so too,” says Martin. “And then we realised that maybe it wouldn't be able to stop us if we all quit, all at once.”

“Collective action.” Melanie grins. “Right, Basira?”

“Right.” Basira brandishes one of the documents. “Don't fancy joining the Magnus Institute Archivists and Allied Workers Union?”

“You formed a _union?_ ” says Peter, in the tones of someone describing their mother doing the unspeakable with a daschund. “A union – but you can't have had time to-”

“Oh, but the magic doesn't seem to care about legal recognition under the Trade Union and Labour Relations (Consolidation) Act, or whatever else you're about to say,” says Jon, clearly relishing getting to use his ability to pronounce parentheses. “Just signing a membership form seems to be enough. Just like our employment contracts.” 

“Sorry,” says Martin, not sounding sorry at all.

“And we all quit,” says Melanie. “Right now.”

“Also, fuck you,” says Daisy. She and Jon don't fist-bump, but they do give each other a look that might as well be one.

“Oh my god,” says Karamo, from the sofa. “They read the pamphlet.”

“Well, they _are_ librarians,” says Antoni. “I'm so proud of them!”

Bobby raises his glass. “To _always_ reading the pamphlet.”

“A toast!” cries Jonathan van Ness, and they all cheers. Antoni does a mini-toast with a stuffed cabbage leaf for Hilda.

On the screen, Peter Lukas has apparently disappeared again. The party has moved on to discussing what they're going to do now.

“I'm going to be London's only consulting detective,” says Basira, feet on the table. 

“That's Sherlock Holmes,” says Daisy, hand on her shoulder. 

“I know!” says Basira. “That's why it'll be so great. And the weird stuff won't know what to do with me. How about it, Watson?”

Daisy rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. “Sure thing, genius.” She nods at Jon and Martin. “Are we going to let those two join if they want?”

Basira pretends to think about it. “Maybe.” She gives Jon the eye. “Do you want to?”

“I think that depends.” 

Jon's looking straight at Martin, who startles and goes to fold his arms before shoving his hands in the pocket of his new jacket. “Oh, yeah, there's a lot to figure out about how not being formally employed here works with the Eye, um, embodiment and everything...”

Melanie, who has been leaning against a chair in a clear statement that she doesn't need one, kicks Martin in the foot. “He means you.”

“ _Thank you_ , Melanie,” says Jon. “Because that's a conversation I want to have in front of a camera crew.”

Melanie pretends to ponder, finger to her chin. “Is that really weirder than the tape recorder messages you two spent months leaving for each other?”

Martin chokes.

In the London HQ, Hilda has settled herself on the sofa, confident in the knowledge that Antoni isn't going to throw her off.

“Awww, they're cute. Even if I don't _really_ get what Martin sees in that Archivist.”

“Tannyyyyy, just because _you_ married an angel of a man doesn't mean everyone wants to! Some of us like a guy with bad-boy appeal.” Jonathan sips his drink meaningfully.

“That's _not_ bad boy appeal,” says Bobby, shaking his head. “That's brooding and Byronic.”

Tan pulls a face. “Is that not the same thing?”

“Tell you what,” says Antoni, “you ask Martin that and see how far you get.”

“Fine, I get it, I'm outnumbered!” Tan throws his hands up. Antoni pats him on the ankle.

On the screen, the shot has panned in to show that Jon and Martin both have their hands on the table in front of them. Their little fingers are touching.

**

QE HIP TIP

JONATHAN: Never try to incinerate creepy body-stealing apocalypse-bringers yourself! Always leave it to the professionals, like we do. It will ruin your manicure, leave dust in your hair, and honey, you do _not_ want to be breathing that guy in!

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, well done, and I hope you appreciate what a genuine struggle it was not to include "there's power in a union" as one of the tags.


End file.
